Light from my flashlight pours down the stairwell as I make my way to Scarlett.

“Isaac!” Scarlett screams.

My apartment door is still propped open, and Buster bolts out of the living room, barking wildly, sprinting down the stairwell ahead of me before I can follow close behind. I fucking knew she shouldn’t have wandered off alone! Why does that woman never listen to me?

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the front door is ajar, and Buster is chasing the back of a black van as it drives around the corner, disappearing into the gloom.

I chase after it, my feet pounding into the ground as I fight the urge to scream her name, and thus give myself away. They could have guns. I don’t feel like getting shot tonight, now that I have a woman to save. I catch up to my dog as the van turns another corner, the two of us sprinting as fast as we can after it.

I’m blinded as we turn another corner, the next block ahead of us fully powered and lit up like the Fourth of July. Jesus, they’ve shut off power to only our block, and I’m filled with rage-tinged fear. I don’t like being afraid. It only serves to drive up my anger, and I pick up my pace as the van continues to weave through traffic, the driver uncaring of any parked cars that it skims as it drives by.

We see a red light up ahead, and I almost grin, knowing that the vehicle will have to stop. It doesn’t. Instead, it plows through a busy intersection, weaving through cars as drivers sit on their horns and gesture wildly at the van careening away down another street. Buster and I wind our way through the stopped cars before they start moving again, the two of us of one mind as we charge down the street after the speeding van.

Where the fuck is a cop when you need one?

My legs burn, lactic acid city, but I press on, built for this. What the fuck have I been training for if it isn’t this exact situation? Buster pants loudly but he’s not giving up either, the two of us pushing the limit as we fight to get closer to the van. It manages to stay just far ahead enough to be out of reach, and when it turns another few corners, Buster and I are chasing the darkness, Scarlett lost to us. We finally stop.

“God damn it,” I spit, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. Buster stands next to me, whimpering as he stares out into the distance, trying to pick up the scent of the van again.

“It’s okay, bud. We’re going to get her back.”

Buster’s tail sinks between his legs as he continues to whimper, and I kneel down to comfort him, not realizing just how close he has gotten to Scarlett.

“Hey, we don’t quit, right? This battle is won, but the war’s still going. Let’s go back home and see if we can pick up any clues there.”

Buster whines, the pitch loud and sad as he continues to stare out in the direction he thinks Scarlett went. I don’t have the heart to make him move just yet. Instead, I place my arm around him and speak softly, assuring him that everything is going to be okay. I’m talking to him like one of the people I save, trying to comfort him even knowing that we’re running out of time. The more time we waste feeling sorry for ourselves, the longer Scarlett is in the hands of those psychos.

There’s a chance that she won’t survive that long.

A sense of urgency pulses through me, and I press Buster to start walking so that we can get back home. I don’t have much to go on at this point but there has to be something in her apartment that can lead me to the house they’re meeting at. That has to be where they’re taking her. It has to be.

I try to make the tone of my voice soothing but Buster continues to sulk all the way home. I have us jog back to save time, and he keeps up even with his tail between his legs.

We get to the front door, and he doesn’t want to come inside. I leave the door propped open for him even as I peel my eyes in the darkness for anyone else looking for trouble. I’m ready for a fight. In fact, if I could beat the shit out of someone right now, it would help.

Not seeing anyone to pummel, I press open Scarlett’s panel and find her key still hidden there. I’m glad now that I didn’t tell her to hide it better as I open her apartment door and step inside, looking for anything that might help. I’m kicking myself for not asking for the address to the place. All I know is what it looks like but that hardly helps. It could be anywhere.

I flash my light around her apartment, looking for anything that will give me a clue as to her whereabouts. I have to assume they’ll take her there, because otherwise I have nothing to go on.

Buster’s nails clop into the main entryway as I continue my search. If any danger presents itself, he’ll let me know. I scan the living room, seeing the plug to the television dangling against the wood floor. The last thing I need is some evil asshole turning on the screen and flashing images of a tortured Scarlett at me.

What if I addressed them directly? I know they’re watching the place. The chances of them hearing me are pretty good. Just as soon as the idea presents itself, I dismiss it. That puts the power directly into their hands, where they can see me, they can hurt Scarlett while I’m powerless to do anything about it, and then they can disappear just as soon as they showed up in the first place. That plan holds no merit, so I move on.

I sift through her bedroom, combing through the side table drawers and finding nothing but some unread books and a journal with a pen tied to it. If this was any other time, I’d be tempted to look inside. Did Scarlett maintain her journal over the past few months? Is there anything useful that might be tucked away inside? It might actually have a clue, and I untie it, opening it up and sifting to the last entry. It’s a little invasive but these are desperate times. I can apologize for reading Scarlett’s private thoughts after I save her.

I read through a few passages but I’m disappointed. There’s nothing here that will help me. It’s mostly reflections on cases she was working from last spring, the dates no later than April.

I slam the book shut and don’t bother replacing it in the drawer. I’m running out of time, and so is Scarlett. I head back out and start searching in the kitchen, desperate for anything I might find as I sift through junk drawers, making my way toward the far counter. My eyes land on a notebook pad, and I glance at it, seeing the top piece ripped off.

I stare at it, thinking.

I flash the light closer to the bottom and I can just see the imprint of an address that she wrote before tearing off the piece of paper. My pulse pounds in my temples as I carefully retrace the address she wrote, knowing this has to be it. Anger and desperation are flowing through me as I step back out into the hall.

“I’m doing this one on my own, Buster. Come on.”

I take the stairs three at a time, leading Buster to my apartment and locking him in tight before I bolt back down the staircase and out the door. I pull my phone from my pocket and turn it on, not caring what those fuckers hear. I’m walking across the street to my truck as I pull my keys out with my other hand, the address burning a hole in my pocket.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Yes,” I say, opening my truck door and sliding in, turning on the car. “My girlfriend has been kidnapped. I have an idea where they’re going, and I want backup.”

“Sir, can you please be a little more specific? Is anyone in immediate danger?”

“Yes, and they might be dead if we don’t act now.”

I tell her the address where I’m headed.

“Something will be going down there one way or another, and I’m going to need backup.”

“Sir, I advise you not to put yourself in harm’s way. This is something for the police to handle.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t care. I’m going to meet them there, and I’ll look forward to having some backup.”

“If you could just stay on the line…”

Before she can finish, I hang up the call. I don’t have time to talk to her while I drive. I tap the address into my navigator before I have a thought. I should confirm that this is actually the place, so we’re not headed toward a dead end. I type the address into a search bar in my phone and look for images, seeing the stately Victorian on my screen, just as Scarlett described.

A sense of finality washes over me as I pull onto the street and drive as fast as I fucking can, the lights on my block flickering on as I leave them in the dust.